


Koi no Yokan

by RobbieTurner



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Incest, Jewish-Romani Pietro and Wanda., WWII, au-ish, mentions of Magneto, no respect for the original comics/movies timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobbieTurner/pseuds/RobbieTurner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt: "Your otp finds out that they're siblings."</p><p>Or: If Wanda and Pietro were born when the Second World War was just beginning, and were separated at a very young age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Koi no Yokan

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a twitter challenge.

_“A stranger has come_  
_To share my room in the house not right in the head,_  
_A girl mad as birds”_

\- Dylan Thomas, Love in the Asylum

 

Let his feet bleed, let his stomach turn. He is the boy that shall run the entire world.

 

On that day, Pietro learned that vengeance is like fuel (drink and set yourself aflame, but burn them to the ground with you).

 

The war took most of it. The house where his family lived, the family itself. He was four, and his memories are tainted by time. He doesn't remember coming into this world, he doesn't remember not being alone. He can’t recall, how could he, the heart that beat along with his in the womb. He doesn't remember his sister. He knows his father was Jewish and his mother was Romani, and those aren’t safe things to be, especially back then. 

 

He survived. Out of ashes and snow and whole generations dead and gone, he was raised by nuns and then by a good communist family, when the armies of Stalin painted in other tones of red the erupted streets of his country. He grew up ravenous and hungry, and vengeance was his muse. He didn`t remember, but the feeling was imprinted in his skin. Vengeance as a bone of his body, like the dark brown of his hair (his father’s), or the blue of his eyes (his mother’s).

 

While HYDRA blossomed in the West, here, behind the iron curtain, a hand of the Soviet Army picked up strays with anger in their bellies and offered them a chance to bite with stronger teeth. Pietro was seventeen and one of the firsts to volunteer.

 

You live two years of winter, you become ice yourself. Spring came, and melted the other boys, one by one. The training was hard, but the experiments were harder. The injections. The tests. The cold laboratories, the cold scientists.  He endured, feeding on pain as one feeds on bread, until he was the only one left. His body was iron, his feet were wings.

 

And then he met Wanda.

 

(And one day he thought about painting her powers in words: she eats light and spits fire by the tips of her fingers. She breaks open skies with her thoughts. She could bleed the entire Earth of its wickedness.)

 

“I lost my family too,” she said, while they shared the same bread and water.

Pietro smiled at her, the girl who endured, the girl whose rage matched his.

“We are family now.” He said, and she smiled back.

 

He’s never been happier.

 

Together they take down entire HYDRA strongholds. He is fast, she’s lethal and they dance among red and white, laughing a child’s laugh. It’s an odd sort of bliss: to go out, kill, come back, and wash the blood – when there is any – of each other’s hair. To get into the bathtub together, naked like brother and sister – but not quite, not when you look at her breasts and imagine how would it feel to touch them, or wish to rest your lips against the dark hair that hides her cunt – and exchange scars and memories. They are both half Romani, half Jewish, and not victims anymore. There’s a world that stretches from his arm to her shoulder, from her vendetta to his. They need nothing else.

 

“We should die together, if we die at all.” Wanda tells him when they are in bed together, fingers entwined, untouched bodies still. He turns, facing her, and like a mirror she does the same. “Let’s live first.” He asks. There’s a tiny bit of red in her eyes, like a strange ornament. When they kiss, she tastes like home.

 

(He touches with his mouth the whole of her body, and doesn’t wanna learn anything else. Let him be uneducated in any other skin in this Earth. She guides him inside her, and they fit like gun and bullet. She loves him with nails that cut and eyes that never leave his.)

 

They find him in a church in Switzerland. The nightmare of their childhoods. A Nazi Doctor, prideful still, even when he chokes on his own blood.

“I remember you,” he says, spiting laughter and red. “The twins.”

The words don’t affect them as they will soon, not yet. Pietro demands:

“What are you talking about?”

“The Russians never told you, did they? Of course not. And you never wondered why only the two of you survived. No human could. No normal human, at least. But you two were fathered by a man who was himself a whole army. A man who could bend metal at his will. A monster and a God that we never managed to kill. The Russians didn’t bless you with powers. You were already cursed.”

They are panting now, the three of them.

“You are wrong. We’re not brother and sister.”  Wanda says, her mouth dry, her stomach clenched like a fist.

“Oh, but you are.” He laughs more, a dying man’s laugh. “Incestuous little beasts too. Yes, I know. We try to know our own deaths you see, so we can laugh at their faces when they finally come.”

They burn down the church not looking at each other. They don’t speak, their sins pilling up on their throats. The shattered pieces of their convictions like ashes in the wind. Two orphans again. Wanda sits down in the dirt and finally looks at him. And he wonders if her lips will still taste like home or something else entirely. He wonders if he always knew.

“I will kill them.” She says.

“There are no them anymore.”

“Not HYDRA.” Wanda explains. “Our handlers. Our liars. I’ll kill everyone who knows the truth.”

Pietro has tears in his eyes, for the first time in years.

“You’ll have to kill me too.”

She smiles, and her tears fall too.

“I won’t ever catch you. You’re too fast.”

And he wants to say that he doesn’t wanna run, but he knows it’s not true. So he looks at her one last time, and let his feet bleed, let his stomach turn, let his dreams decay, let his sister behind, again.

He is the boy that shall run the entire world.

 

 

Finite

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm too old and these kids wrote like 20000000 words in four hours and all I have to show is this crappy fanfic.


End file.
